Page 94 of Someone Just Followed You

‘Nah,’ Dylan manages.

‘Bagdad Café it is then,’ Garrett mutters, staring at the road ahead. ‘And I’m pretty sure only a handful of people live in Newberry Springs these days, so we just need to pray that Jake’s one of them.’

It takes them nearly two and a half hours to reach the café – two hours pushing the truck to its max speed limit, then twenty minutes cursing and doubling back after missing exit 206. They’ve been mostly quiet on the journey, but Garrett has explained that Bagdad Café is a cult movie from the 1980s – Stranger Things era – with an epic theme tune, so Dylan is surprised when they pull up outside a rundown, one-story roadside café.

But then again, they’re not here for movie nostalgia.

Dylan throws open the truck door and races toward the café, the others in step behind him. Closer up, he can see hundreds of stickers in the windows, flags from dozens of different countries stuffed in flowerpots or stuck to splintered wooden beams. He pulls on the main door, but it only rattles. He tries it again, then realizes it’s locked.

‘Shit,’ Garrett mutters, pointing to a sign with the opening hours. ‘The café closed half an hour ago.’

‘So what do we do?’ Dylan asks, scanning the desolate landscape. The sun has disappeared over the horizon now; it’ll be dark soon. How the hell are they going to find Maple in this? He rattles the handle again, but in frustration this time, so he almost falls over when the door opens.

‘Jeez, can’t you read a sign?’ a man in denim shorts and a grubby white T-shirt mutters. ‘I’ve been on my feet since dawn, broke my own record for flipping flippin’ buffel burgers for German tourists. I really don’t need kids trying to break my door down too.’

Dylan raises his hands. ‘I’m sorry but we really need your help.’

‘Oh yeah?’ The man looks at him suspiciously, then shifts his gaze to Garrett and the twins and visibly softens. ‘What kind of help?’

‘Do you know someone called Jake who lives around here?’ Dylan asks. ‘He’s a photographer, has an amazing camera apparently. He was in here recently. I mean I guess you have visitors from all over but …’

‘Yeah, I know him,’ the man interrupts. ‘Jake Carter. Lives out on Aleppo Lane.’ He frowns slightly. ‘You know, I always had him down as a loner, but you’re the second person who’s asked about him tonight.’

Dylan’s eyes widen. ‘Was it the police asking?’

The man screws his face up. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Okay, let’s go!’ Garrett shouts, already running back to his truck.

‘Get the police down there, please,’ Dylan begs the man. Then he turns and runs too.

Chapter 110

Maple

@Unicornsarereal<3, TikTok

I’m really scared for Maple #findMaple

I guess I’m going to die here. Yeah, Brandon gives me rations. Bottles of water I gulp down, food my stomach still refuses. But my soul is dying, I can feel it shriveling up like roadkill in the sun, and I don’t suppose my body can survive without that.

I squeeze my eyes closed. Fuck, why did I think my life was so bad before? Mom might not be perfect, but all she asked of me was to make a few videos, create content worth clicking on. And in return I got an amazing home, cool stuff for free, so many friends. Endless fun. But still I threw a teenage tantrum, refused to do what Mom asked. Then one bad thing happened – I found out my dad isn’t my dad – and even though he’s been an awesome father really, I ran off. Thought I knew best.

But then again, I also called Coco my closest friend in the world, which shows how messed up my brain is.

I lift my legs as far as they will go, then ram them down, kicking out, not caring about the pain that explodes as my heels make contact with the iron bedframe. I want to scream too but I daren’t in case he storms in, gags me again. So I create fists instead, punch the mattress, almost die from the futility of it.

But then, something.

A noise.

I stop, listen. It’s not coming from the door, but from the other side of the room, beyond the window covered in newspapers. Outside. I freeze, listen as hard as I can.

There. Again. Rustling and scratching. The thud of a footstep maybe. It could be an animal, I suppose, but it sounds more purposeful than that. Like a person trying to get in.

My heart races.

Have the police found me? Am I going to be saved? Do I get to go home after all?